


bid my blood to run

by Dawn_Blossom



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canonical Character Death, Corruption, F/M, Manipulation, essentially the timeline is different re events involving chrom's father, good ending for grima and circumstantially happy ending for chrom, quote-unquote 'blueberry suffering', terrible ending for the safety of the world as a whole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26488396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/Dawn_Blossom
Summary: One day, Chrom's father brought home a doll to his eldest daughter. Had he known whose spirit resided within it, he never would have.
Relationships: Chrom/Gimurei | Grima, Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 30
Kudos: 108





	bid my blood to run

**Author's Note:**

> ... something, something, cycle of violence...
> 
> And yes, I DID use [Bring Me to Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-eGM0IJc70Y) for the title. I was going to have another emo phase but due to unexpected circumstances I'm happy now, so Chrom can have it instead.

Chrom is not jealous.

Jealousy is childish, and he is already 13 years old, so he shouldn’t— _can’t_ —feel something like that over something so stupid as… as a doll, of all things.

“Do you like it, my darling?” the Exalt of Ylisse asks his eldest daughter. “We recovered her from a group of Plegian merchants.”

He means that he killed the merchants and stole their wares, Chrom realizes. He tries to shake the thought away. It’s not like that. His father is just…

He doesn’t know how to complete the sentence, so he returns his focus to the doll.

“She’s lovely, father,” Emmeryn says politely.

She would have rather received a book of some sort. Of course, their father would never give her a book of Plegian magic; even a book of healing spells could draw on fell magic, given the nation’s faith. And fiction was surely out of the question; what if it glorified the Fell Dragon? No, the Exalt of Ylisse would never give Emmeryn the sort of souvenir she’d be interested in. 

Lissa would probably enjoy a doll more, but this one looks a little too delicate for the kinds of adventures she likes to take her playthings on. Hair that distinctly white would never stay so in her care. And she’d probably bash the poor thing’s skull in while running down the hall.

Chrom wouldn’t have that problem. True, he is known for breaking his weapons and training dummies, and he has been scolded for running around the castle more times than Lissa has, but… Those were different situations. He would be careful with something like this.

He doesn’t know why he bothers thinking about it. The Exalt of Ylisse would never give his only son a doll, especially not one so extravagantly beautiful. The doll’s hair is probably softer than Chrom’s own, and her dress is really just a miniature version of something that his sisters could well have in their own closets. Her red eyes are probably true rubies, polished and perfected. She was no doubt commissioned by a very wealthy family.

A very wealthy _Plegian_ family… His father would hardly care about depriving a Plegian child of a gift like this. It’s probably for the best that he stopped the merchants before they delivered it, or else maybe he would have even…

Chrom isn’t supposed to think like that. It’s simply the House of Ylisse’s duty to protect the world from the Grimleal who want to destroy it. His father has lectured him so many times on this topic that Chrom would sooner bite his tongue bloody than make the mistake of questioning his father again…

“Ah, son.” The Exalt’s lips curl. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“O-Oh?” Chrom jolts to attention, praying his father _doesn’t._

“Everything they make in Plegia is worthless trash, so why am I giving it to your sister?”

Chrom does not let his relief show on his face, instead nodding neutrally at the excuse.

“The craftsmanship is impeccable,” his father continues. “As good as if it had been crafted in Ylisstol itself! Those dastards we saved her from either stole her themselves, or bought her from some other thief.”

Chrom wonders, as he sometimes does, how Ylisse could be full of the strongest and smartest people in the world if they are constantly getting one-upped by their neighbors in Plegia.

But no, that isn’t fair. Blame the thief for stealing, not the victim for being stolen from. He does not doubt his morals. It is only that, the way his father puts it sometimes…

“I will take good care of her now,” Emmeryn says, saving her poor brother from having to come up with a good response. “She will not be stolen from my hands.”

“Not while I’m around,” Chrom adds, lest his father get the idea that he’d let Emmeryn fight alone.

It’s not as though his father has never given him anything. He’s got the finest sword among any of his friends. And he’s got special training in the House of Ylisse’s secret techniques. Emmeryn isn’t much interested in fighting, though she knows enough magic to protect herself, and Lissa… well, she’s starting to take after Emmeryn in healing talent, at least. But Chrom is the only one who wields a sword. He is the one who will one day lead the army. He is the one who will one day wield the Falchion when his father can no longer, His father gives him personal training when he is home, and entrusts him to skilled tutors when he is away, but either way, he makes sure Chrom knows the special duty he bears. He is Ylisse’s one and only Prince, and that means…

No pretty gifts for him. Ever. But his father is home, and he will tell him all the terrible things that the Plegians have done now, and Chrom will have to praise his father even when he doesn’t understand how he can possibly be in the right, and…

He looks once more at the doll, cradled so tenderly in Emmeryn’s arms. “She” is just a toy. A toy cannot possibly judge him, and yet something about her blank stare seems uncannily focused.

_Fine, little doll, you win._

So what if he wants the thing? There’s no way Emmeryn wants her, and there’s no way Lissa could take care of her, so why shouldn’t he be allowed to have her? Isn’t he a dutiful son? Would a gift like this change that? Their father could at least take notice of what his children prefer!

“Father, may I be dismissed?” Emmeryn asks, her head lowered slightly. “I… would like to prepare this doll for display, and it is already so late in the afternoon; I have class soon…”

“Of course, darling,” the Exalt says. “Lissa, my dear, you may go as well. If you head to your room, you just might find yourself a new dress…”

“Oh, thanks father!” Lissa says. “I needed a new one after last week when I— Uhhhh, after I spilled tea on the one I was wearing. Yup, that’s what happened! You can ask Maribelle!”

The Exalt chuckles, allowing Lissa to escape further interrogation… She was already scolded last week, anyway, although it had less to do with spilled tea and more to do with the garden she wasn’t supposed to be digging around in. There were tea leaves involved, though, and no one could be too harsh on her when they discovered she was just trying to impress Maribelle… who had probably screamed the loudest when she saw Lissa’s dirtied figure.

“Chrom, you stay.”

Chrom looks at his father, a feeling of half-hope and half-dread washing over him.

“I have a present for you, too,” his father says, his lips quirking teasingly. “If you earn it, of course.”

It’s probably some new armor. Chrom has been growing a lot lately, so he needs it. But he’ll probably grow some more soon and outgrow this gift, so it seems like such a waste. Now, if he were given something more ornamental…

Gods, he has _got_ to stop thinking about that doll.

“I’ll do my best, father,” he says, resting his hand on the sword he knows he’ll be required to draw.

* * *

Chrom wishes he could say he’s surprised to learn his father has died in a (“blaze of glory,” they tell him) reckless fit of destruction.

But he’s 14 now and he has _eyes_ and he can see through every lie the late Exalt ever told him. Plegia rejoices as the monster that has hunted them for a decade is finally slain. And Ylisse cries out in pain, its wounds sustained for the sake of a false promise its ruler had no right to make.

His damn father… All he ever gave him was a bunch of sorry swords, some stupid shields, a bunch of useless armor that won’t fit him after his next growth spurt. 

They present the Falchion to him in ceremonial formality before they even hold the funeral. Chrom doesn’t even want to take it, but it’s already been shown that his sisters can’t use it; if he does not take it up then who will defend them?

Because now it’s not just Plegia who hates the royal family of Ylisse. Their own people hate them, too.

“You’re just barely old enough to take the throne,” Chrom mutters. “What do they even expect from you? Father didn’t even want you involved in the war effort. I know you… talked to people sometimes, but even then…”

“Times are difficult for everyone,” Emmeryn says. “Father left us… Left us…”

She pauses, and the words echo in Chrom’s mind during the silence. Yes, their father left them. And he left behind his mess for them.

“He left us an opportunity,” Emmeryn says. “An opportunity to live in peace at last. We just have to grasp it. Chrom… do you even remember a time when we weren’t at war?”

Chrom grimaces. He was 4 years old when the war started. He has a few memories, but… he didn’t understand what anything meant back then.

“Do you?” he asks.

His older sister was only 8 herself…

“It’s the sort of thing you don’t realize you’re grateful for,” she says, “until you don’t have it anymore.”

“Emm…” He wants to cling to her. It’s so cruel. Their father took away her peace, and now somehow she’s supposed to be responsible for putting it back. It’s completely unfair! “Emm, I know you’re full of wisdom and diplomacy, but the things people are saying about you… Just promise me you won’t listen to them.”

Emmeryn smiles. Chrom doesn’t understand how she can stay so calm. Even when she’s upset, she always manages to hold her head high.

“Don’t you listen to them, either,” she says. “People don’t think clearly when they’re tired and hurt. I understand their suffering, so I am not angry when they speak of their worries. I do not need you angry on my behalf.”

That’s easier said than done. Hearing people who know nothing about Emmeryn insult her is worse than hearing insults about himself. He is the one who inherited the Falchion. He is the one his father bothered to train. Shouldn’t he be the one everyone is afraid of?

“I…” he starts to say.

But if Emmeryn can hold herself together despite everything, what excuse does he have? He must be more like her. If something he does makes things harder for her, he’ll never forgive himself.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, averting his gaze from his sister’s gentle eyes.

“I know,” she says. “And I’m sorry. If I could shield you and Lissa from all of this, I—”

“Your Grace! There you are!” The hierarch of the priesthood practically barrels down the corridor. “Ah, and Prince Chrom…”

Chrom nods politely. The hierarch has served Ylisse for what might as well be forever to Chrom; he was appointed to the position by Chrom’s _grandfather._ Thank the gods that _someone_ is on Emmeryn’s side… But Chrom can see where he isn’t needed. 

“I’ll just… go,” he says, gesturing behind him. “I’ll be in my room, if anyone…”

If anyone what, wants to talk to him? No one will. It’s obvious that he’s hiding. He knows Frederick will come and get him if anything important happens, or if he needs to make an appearance to stop everyone from whispering about him, or whatever. Lissa’s monopolizing his time right now though, and Chrom is grateful for that. He appreciates what his retainer does for him, he really does, it’s just… Frederick can’t help him right now. No need to make the knight feel bad about it.

“Get some rest,” Emmeryn says.

Nobody rests well in this castle anymore. But he nods at her anyway.

When he slips into the privacy of his own chambers, the curtains are already drawn, and he fully intends to crawl into bed and… well, probably just lie there; he doesn’t feel anywhere close to falling asleep. But as he pulls back the covers, he discovers that something is already there…

Yes, he jumps… It’s dark and there isn’t supposed to be anything in his bed! Bur upon closer inspection, it’s just a doll…

A very beautiful doll. She’s familiar to him; she catches his eye every time he finds himself in Emmeryn’s room. The very doll that he wished his father would have given him instead. True, he would have dropped dead of shock if his father really had, but… It was just the principle of the thing… His swords will break and his shields will tarnish and he’ll never have anything to prove that the late Exalt of Ylisse ever cared that he had a son, and…

He can’t take it. He hugs the doll to his chest. Who cares if it’s childish? His father is dead.

“He was terrible. He ruined people’s lives. But I…”

He pulls the doll back. Her eyes catch what little light there is in the room, and the way they gleam is almost… coaxing.

Maybe he’ll confess. That’s probably why Emmeryn left the doll here, anyway. He’s always stared at it a little too much… She surely knows how he feels. He would rather confide in _her,_ but there’s just too much going on. He and his siblings all have to stay strong for the sake of their country. And Chrom knows he has to stay strong for the sake of his sisters. So, if he cannot talk to his family, then…

He runs his fingers through the doll’s hair, making sure that it didn’t get too mussed up from the hug. It really is soft… In the dark, it practically feels real.

“I miss him,” he tells her. “But I also… I also hate him. I never wanted to be what he wanted me to. But I didn’t… I didn’t want _this._ How could he do this to us? I’m confused. I don’t know what I feel. I feel terrible.”

The doll is sort of warm in his hands. From holding onto it too tightly, he supposes. But even if it is just a reflection of his own body heat, it’s somewhat soothing. And somehow, speaking the words aloud has made him feel better.

Not _much_ better.

But a little bit. Like he’s been drained of everything too powerful for him to handle, and the ache he’s still left with is not quite as sharp.

The doll in his hands has a cute smile painted on her face. She is truly adorable. He had tried not to think about it too much before, but now that he is actually holding her, he cannot help wonder what child she was actually destined for… What Plegian child should she have been offering comfort to?

The ache inside him sharpens again.

“Is everything we have…” He frowns. “Just here to keep it away from someone else?”

He doesn’t think so. Most of his possessions were made right here in Ylisstol to belong to him alone. Some of his things are from Emmeryn or Lissa, traded for things of his that he did not care to keep. And it is really only this doll that he knows was stolen from strangers.

The key phrase being _that he knows._

“So much pain inside you…”

For an instant, Chrom freezes, his only movement being to dart his eyes as he searches for the source of the voice he’s sure he just heard.

“Fear not…”

Yeah, right! He fumbles for his sword first, then staggers to the curtains and throws them open. The glow of sunset reveals… 

Nothing at all.

He clutches his sword defensively. If someone has infiltrated the castle, he must subdue them immediately. If they think the royal children are helpless sitting ducks in the wake of the late Exalt’s demise, they’re going to be in for a rude awakening. 

“Show yourself!” he demands.

“You are already holding me,” the voice drawls with languid amusement.

Chrom looks down. Besides his sword, which has certainly never spoken to him before, he also has hold of the doll, which he had not thought to put down in his rush to arm himself.

“Are… Are you…” Chrom feels foolish just saying it. “... A magic doll?”

“Of sorts…” the voice replies. “I am a spirit occupying a vessel. For years I slept, nearly lifeless… But then your soul called to mine.”

“Oh… Did it…?” 

Chrom’s heart races. Just what does he have on his hands? There are always stories to be heard of evil ghosts and cursed objects, but Chrom always thought they were just rumors; the people telling such tales are never reliable figures.

But dark magic _does_ exist. It’s frowned upon in Ylisse because of how prevalent it is in Plegia, but he’s definitely pretended not to see enough books hidden in places Emmeryn didn’t know he knew about to understand that his father had not simply made up the concept of curses solely to blame Plegia for more things.

“You’re afraid of me.” The spirit sounds disappointed. “Ah, poor thing. Of course you’re confused. You need not fear me, though. I won’t hurt you the way others have. I am little more than a lonely spirit, trapped in a doll. You can tell me your troubles. Come now, I know you’re troubled; I can feel your spirit crying inside you. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Er…” There’s not really any way to test what she’s saying. Frederick would be trying to set fire to the doll right now if he were here. “Do you have a name?”

If it’s some well-known fiend like “Bloody Mary” then obviously he’s going to run and shout for some guards.

“Robin,” comes the answer. It doesn't sound very Ylissean, but that’s hardly surprising. The important thing is that it isn’t the name of any vengeful spirit he’s heard of.

“Robin, I…” Chrom is stuck. He’s sure his father would never have given Emmeryn anything obviously cursed. What if he tries to tell someone about this and nobody believes him? His sleep _has_ been full of strange dreams lately, though he’s certain that this isn’t one of them. “I want to believe you, but… how can I? It’s not normal for spirits to live inside dolls.”

“I understand,” Robin says. “ You’re a wise one to be wary. If I had not trusted so freely, perhaps I would not be in this state now. The people I once thought my friends betrayed me. This was the best my last ally could do to save me.”

“This ally of yours…” Chrom frowns. “Are they looking for you?”

Is this who the doll was stolen from?

“No… The man is dead,” Robin says. “The ritual he used to preserve me this way drained him of his life.”

A ritual that drains life. That’s dark magic, for sure.

“But it saved yours,” Chrom says.

“Yes,” Robin agrees.

So dark magic can be good. Chrom supposes he ought to have realized that already, but still… His world is upside down, and his father’s lies are easier exposed when he has proof.

“Do… Do you have to stay this way forever?” he asks. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“… Fate is written, and there is nothing you can do to change it,” Robin says. “But you can talk to me. It has been a long time since I have had any entertainment.”

“That’s all you want?” Chrom looks into the doll’s eyes. People say that the eyes are windows to the soul. He doesn’t know if that still applies in a situation like this, but he likes to think that he can see Robin better this way. “I can do that.”

He can’t say as much about many other things in his life. He can’t do anything about his father’s death, or about the things he’s done. He can’t do anything about the things people say about his father, or Emmeryn, or Lissa, or even himself. He’s basically useless to the people he cares about.

But at least he can do this one thing for this one soul.

* * *

“So I’m not supposed to hate them,” Chrom says. “But it’s okay that they hate us? How is that fair?”

“It isn’t,” Robin says soothingly. “Those cruel people hate you for no reason. They deserve your ire. Everyone with an ounce of sense should know it, but people are so heartless…”

“Emm’s mad at me.” Chrom scowls. He doesn’t dare reach for the doll balanced at the edge of his bed. He’s angry enough to break anything he puts in his hands, and he would never dare harm Robin’s vessel. “She was ATTACKED and she’s mad at ME for coming to her aid! They arrested the man who threw the stone, but of course she’s pardoning him… It could have been worse, you know, if I hadn’t drawn my sword!”

Just over a year into Emmeryn’s reign, the Ylissean people still don’t trust their new Exalt. Things aren’t even going that badly with Plegia right now! Everyone is keeping to their own side of the border, and the Plegian Queen is being surprisingly lenient, not asking for any of the harsh punishments her people are calling for. She seems to want peace as much as Emmeryn does.

And yet, the way the Ylissean people talk about it, you’d think Emmeryn was personally dragging out negotiations just to bankrupt Ylisse and starve everyone in it! What do they think she can do? Technically, nobody “won” or “lost” the war, but everyone knows Ylisse is functionally the loser! They should be grateful that both nations have leaders willing to listen to each other!

“Frederick was behind me when it happened,” Chrom mutters. “But he apologized to Emm right away. Said he acted on impulse and wishes he hadn’t. Well, I’M not sorry for what I did. I won’t apologize for it.”

He knows she’ll forgive him whether he says it or not; that’s just her nature. And the truth is, he _is_ a little bit sorry. For going against her wishes when she already has enough problems to deal with. But he cannot, will not, say that he was wrong.

There is no way he could have stood back and let people attack his sister, whether she thinks they have a right to be upset or not.

Of course he understands that pulling out a weapon won’t do anything to placate a public afraid of another warmonger. But what else could he have done? All he knows how to do is swing a sword. If he isn’t even allowed to do that, then…

Chrom closes his eyes.

“Hey, Robin,” he says. “You used to lead an army, right? Er, before they betrayed you, I mean…”

“Yes…” Robin doesn’t sound too pleased, and Chrom winces. His intent wasn’t to bring to mind bad memories, but he does have a point to make.

“What was it you all were fighting for?” he asks.

“What does everyone fight for?” Robin says bitterly. “To save themselves… But I, an outsider, was not at risk. I got involved because…”

Sometimes, when Robin speaks of her past, the doll’s magic… shifts. Chrom doesn’t know how to explain it; he has no talent for the art himself, and were it not for Naga’s blood flowing through his veins, he might be insensitive to magic entirely. But he _can_ sense it, just enough to know that Robin is hurting.

Forget evil curses; Chrom had stopped worrying about those long ago. Robin is as much of a person as anyone else at the castle.

“I thought they would be doomed without my assistance,” Robin continues. “And they would have been. It was only after they realized how powerful I was that they began to think I was too dangerous to live among them anymore.”

“I’m sorry…” Chrom says. “If I could draw my sword against them too, I would.”

Some of his anger has drained away, so Chrom decides it’s safe to touch the doll. He cradles it in the crook of his arm.

“I hate them for doing that to you,” he says. “And I’m terrified… You helped them and they all but killed you. If it can happen to you, then what about Emm? And SHE is hardly a military leader! I… I’m not out of line, am I? I don’t want to be like my father and cut down everyone I don’t like… I just want to be strong enough to protect my family! If someone tries to hurt the people I care for, isn’t it obvious that I’m going to fight back? It’s their own fault if they get hurt!”

“Of course you’re not out of line,” Robin says. “You can’t fight cruelty with kindness. If these people wanted peace, they would stand behind your sister. But no, they only understand violence. You have to answer in the single language they speak.”

“Yeah…” Chrom knows Robin is right, but it’s a painful truth to accept. In a better world, everyone _would_ follow Emmeryn, and this issue would not burden him at all. “Emm’s way is the best… when other people are willing to go along with it. I wouldn’t want her to change. But as for me… I speak better with a sword than with words. As long as it’s clear that there’s a line that must not be crossed, nobody has to get hurt.”

“That’s right,” Robin says. “Let your retribution be well-deserved.”

* * *

“You dastard,” Sully hisses. “I ought to stick my lance through your guts for what you said to Sumia.”

“What?” Chrom folds his arms indignantly. “I only told her that if she didn’t want to train, then maybe she should find some friends who don’t spend all their time training.”

“She’s been our friend since she was 3!’ Sully exclaims. “Not to mention the fact she adores you! How could you threaten her like that?”

“I didn’t threaten her!” Chrom protests. “You weren’t even there! You don’t know what happened!”

Sumia is the one who started acting weird, anyway. Far from “adoring” him, lately she’s been literally tripping over herself to avoid even sharing the same room with him. Her friend Cordelia is in on it, too; while she isn’t as flighty, the way her tone shifts into cold politeness every time she addresses him makes it obvious she holds him in disdain as well.

It’s not like he’s forcing anyone to be his friend! He likes sparring and practicing his moves. If Sumia doesn’t want to, she doesn’t have to. There’s no reason for anyone to get mad about it. Sully is being ridiculous.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sully asks. “Who are you and what have you done with Chrom? What happened to the boy that never turned his back on anyone?”

“Well, we’re not little kids anymore,” Chrom says. “Things have changed! Come on, Sully, YOU were still wearing dresses when we first met—”

“Because my parents were still dressing me back then, you ass!” Sully shouts. “Are you telling me you only spent time with us because you HAD to?”

“No!” Chrom shouts back. “That’s not what I meant! You aren’t listening to me!”

“S-Sully?” 

It’s only natural that all the yelling would draw attention… It’s unfortunate that it had to be Sumia herself passing by, though.

“Oh…” Sumia covers her reddening face with her hands. “I told you it was nothing, didn’t I? Please tell me you aren’t fighting over me…”

Chrom grits his teeth.

“It’s not your fault, Sumia,” he forces out.

“Damn right it’s not!” Sully says. “He’s been acting like this for a while now. Damn it, Chrom, we’re ALL pissed about the Council’s new recruitment scheme. You don’t have to take it out on us!”

“Is… Is that what this is about?” Sumia asks. “Do they want you to lead the new recruits or something? Oh, I guess that explains why you don’t have time for s-silly tea parties anymore.”

“Emm’s against it,” Chrom says, frowning as Sumia averts her gaze. “But she can’t stall forever.”

He sighs. As much as he wishes he could just sit and relax over a cup of tea with Sumia like he used to, it’s a different world they’re living in now.

He’s accepted it. Now his friends need to.

But Sully just huffs, unimpressed with him, and something inside his heart breaks. She’ll never get it. She’s already chosen Sumia’s side over his. The bonds between him and his childhood friends have not broken per se, but they have started becoming dull. It’s not just Sumia and Sully who are looking at him differently. Maribelle sneers at him for behaving too brutishly. Lissa rolls her eyes at every word he says. Emmeryn’s sighs increase tenfold when he is around. Frederick is practically overperforming his duties as if to compensate for everyone else, but as much as he appreciates the knight’s work, it’s exactly that—work. Sometimes it feels like Frederick is just babysitting him.

But there is one person Chrom can still turn to. One friend who is not tired of him.

Thank the gods he found Robin. He thinks he would probably break without her, or at least break down. He doesn’t know what Sully would have done if he cried in front of her, and he’d sooner run a sword through his eyes than find out. But with Robin there to ease his soul, he can keep marching on, unscarred by the scratch of life’s thorns.

“Oh, Chrom,” Robin tells him gently as he grips her vessel tightly. “Anyone could see how much pressure is on you. They think only of themselves, never of what you’re going through.”

“I don’t want to burden anyone else,” he says. “My problems are my own. But… They don’t have to act the way they do… I swear they don’t even like me anymore! Am I that awful?”

“They don’t understand why you don’t just give them everything they want,” Robin says. “They don’t understand why you aren’t exactly the person they want you to be. And you know how people are when they don’t understand...”

His father against Plegia. His people against his sister.

His friends against him? His anger spikes. He doesn’t want things to go that way!

He senses the doll’s magic pulsing around him, like Robin is going through the same emotional reaction he is.

“As long as you understand me, that’s enough…” he says quietly, the anger slowly draining out of him.

Exhausted, he lies back to rest his head on a pillow.

“Hope you… don’t mind,” he says dazedly as he places the doll next to him under the covers. Normally he would move Robin someplace where he wouldn’t be able to accidentally roll on top of her, but he doesn’t have the energy to get out of bed right now.

“Sleep,” Robin commands.”I will watch over you…”

And that is all Chrom needs to relax into unconsciousness.

* * *

“A military hero at 17,” Robin says. “How pathetic of your Council.”

“It’s not like that… entirely.” Chrom winces. “It’s true they want me to learn to lead. And I don’t trust their intentions…”

With Emmeryn still focusing all her efforts on keeping things peaceful, both between Ylisse and Plegia and among the Ylissean people themselves, building up the army sends quite the contrary message… Chrom takes comfort in the fact that there will never be a military coup as long as _he_ has anything to say about it, but can’t help but see this as another sign of the contempt everyone feels for his sister. It’s infuriating, and he occasionally wonders what the hell they were thinking, giving him soldiers to train as if he wouldn’t teach them to be as wary of the Council as he is.

“The Shepherds are loyal to me alone, though,” he says. “Even if my friends don’t like me very much anymore, they trust my skills, just as I trust theirs. I’ve recruited a few fresh faces too, but they’ll catch up soon. And I… I am a commander, not a child. We don’t have to be friends. As long as we fight for each other, as long as our battle-forged bonds hold, we will survive.”

“You’re setting yourself up for disappointment,” Robin says. “Do you think I don’t know you well enough to tell what you do and don’t believe? You have to watch them carefully, Chrom. They will turn on you if you do not stay in control.”

“I’ll be in control!” Chrom exclaims.

“You will if you listen to me,” Robin says. “I’ve been on the battlefield. I will see the tricks you never will.”

“Of course.” Chrom can’t help but smile. “You’re the best advisor I’ve ever had. Far better than the head tactician they’ve appointed. He used to tutor me in geography. He somehow makes _mountains_ hard to comprehend.”

It’s not too important now. They aren’t at war, and gods willing, they won’t see another under Emmeryn’s reign. 

“Right now, we’re only protecting people from everyday problems,” he continues. “Brigands, bandits, thieves… the occasional wild animal when we’re roaming the countryside.”

“Thrilling,” Robin says, unimpressed.

“We’re just trying to help,” Chrom says. “Er… emphasis on ‘trying,’ I suppose…”

“Ah. The people aren’t happy to see you.”

As always, Robin understands him immediately.

“Some of them are,” he says quickly. “But sometimes…”

It’s like they _want_ to see his father and the whole Ylissean army instead of Chrom and a few teenage soldiers. He’s there to answer their complaints like a good prince, and they greet him with hostility! Neither he nor anyone under him ever waged war in his father’s name, yet they are expected to pay the price of what a bunch of soldiers (probably all dead from the war, anyway) did a decade ago? If he weren’t coming now in _Emmeryn’s_ name, he’d do something to teach a lesson to everyone spitting on his Shepherds.

But as it is, he cannot protect the people he commands from the public’s scorn. Neither can he properly protect the public, not when his presence has just as much chance of making things worse as it does of making them better. He can’t do anything for anyone at all.

He’s just so…

Useless.

“It can’t go on like this,” he says. “I’m going to see this world change if it’s the last thing I do. How can we have peace if no one ever gives it a chance?”

“People won’t change unless you make them,” Robin warns.

“Then I’ll damned well make them!” Chrom declares.

A world where everyone suffers can’t simply continue on as it is.

* * *

“The Queen of Plegia is dead…” Chrom informs Robin. “Poison, they’re saying.”

“Then she was murdered, you mean,” Robin says. “Assassinated.”

“That’s more likely than a suicide.” Chrom sighs. “Some people are wondering if we did it. Plegians, mostly, but some of our own people suspect us, too.”

“Unsurprising,” Robin says drily. “Politics and hatred are common causes of betrayal. Combine them and you have the perfect motive.”

“Emm would never order anyone killed. Ever.” Even if she should, in Chrom’s opinion. “If it WAS an Ylissean who did it, it’s an attack against her, too. And just when our people were finally starting to believe in her…”

“It was likely an attack from the inside,” Robin says. “I know you do not know much about Plegia… But you are smart enough to realize, unlike your father, that the people are not units of a hivemind. Why would your sister be the only ruler to struggle to keep the favor of her citizens?”

“Right…” Chrom grimaces. But even if the issue doesn’t have anything to do with Ylisse, Chrom can’t see any way for them to stay out of it now. The royal family is bound to what the people believe of them.

“It’s a perfect opportunity to blame you, of course,” Robin continues. “A chance to hit two birds with one stone. You know how _humanity_ is.”

The way she says that last sentence makes Chrom shiver. He knows Robin bears a grudge against everyone who wronged her. But this is perhaps the first time he realizes exactly how far it extends…

He can’t fault her. He doesn’t think there’s anything unique about people who decide to betray others. They are the norm, and it is people like Emmeryn who go out of their way to avoid conflict who are unique. If Robin could look out into the world, she would see people who have betrayed her, and people who have not betrayed her _yet._

Chrom has long hated Robin’s former friends for hurting her. But perhaps it is time for him to recognize that the problem is a lot broader. What makes Ylisseans “good” compared to the “evil” Plegians? He had figured out there was no difference years ago. They are all human, all as bad as each other.

This world full of humans torments the people he cares for… He’d do anything to fix it… But the fact is, there is probably nothing he can do. His sister could sway the people’s hearts if they would just listen, but people only listen to what they want to hear. The truth is an afterthought.

“I’m supposed to head to the border with the Shepherds…” he says tiredly. “Just to dissuade anyone thinking about crossing it to retaliate. I don’t know if I want to go, though.”

“No?” Robin prompts.

“I’d rather stay close to Emm,” he says. “I don’t care what happens to the rest of the country anymore. If they don’t want me to help, if they want to fight with each other, or even with Plegians across the border, why shouldn’t I just let them?”

“Do you think the Exalt wants you to stay around, though?” Robin asks. “She never reacts well when you try to defend her.”

“Maybe she doesn’t.” Chrom grimaces. “But I still…”

His heart clenches painfully, and Robin’s magic surges in response.

“There are so few people I love… I would stay beside them no matter what,” he confesses through the pain. “I… I’d do the same for you too, you know?”

The pain subsides, leaving Chrom feeling like he’d cried without shedding tears. Robin’s magic slowly settles back into the doll as well.

“… If you were anyone else, I’d call you a liar.” Robin chuckles humorlessly.

“I mean everything I say to you,” Chrom says. “You’re the only one I never have to hold my tongue for.”

“I know…” 

Chrom cannot decipher Robin’s tone, and naturally he can read nothing from the doll’s ever-unchanging face. 

“There aren’t many people I’d bother wishing well,” Robin says after a while. “But for you… I wish there was a better life somewhere out there for _you._ ”

Chrom smiles. It’s a kind thought.

“You understand I don’t have the power to grant a wish like that…” Robin continues.

“I don’t think anyone does,” Chrom says. “We can’t change fate, right?”

“Even the gods wouldn’t know where to start,” Robin agrees.

* * *

“Chrom!” Robin yells “Chrom, damn it! Say something to me!”

Chrom can hear Robin, but no other sounds register as he stares at the bloody scene before him.

The body is headless, and he’s not sure he wants to know where the head is right now. Green robes are slashed apart and stained irreparably. And her legs, fuck, didn’t he tell her she needed to wear more layers, like him? But the hundreds of cuts won't even scar, because she's...

This is definitely Emmeryn.

Damn it, this cannot be Emmeryn!

“Chrom, behind you!” Robin shouts.

He has enough sense to swing his sword as he whirls around. A masked intruder stumbles back. There are more in the corridor.

“Are these the men who…?” He can’t even say it.

“They must be,” Robin says. “Assassins, all of them.”

One of the assassins, mistaking Chrom’s question as being for him, sneers.

“There’s no place in this world for tyranny!” he proclaims.

Chrom sees red.

“But you think there’s room for you?” he growls, his sword swinging like it has a mind of its own.

“Chrom, you can’t stay here and fight them all,” Robin says. “They’ll overwhelm you alone.”

“I don’t care,” Chrom tells the doll carefully pressed to his side. He doesn’t care if his opponents think he’s lost his mind, either. “I don’t care if I die here. I should have died protecting her. I—”

It takes everything in him to keep upright. His body hurts, inside and out. Maybe he really will die here, next to Emmeryn’s body, in penance for his failure… 

“Do you want to take revenge?” Robin asks, her voice in his mind suddenly thunderous

“Wh-what?” 

He can stand normally again. His enemies eye him calculatingly. They don’t know what he’s going through.

“I ASKED if you want revenge!” Robin roars. Then, more gently, she continues. “I can help you take it.”

“Against… Against WHO?” he asks. “It’s not just these assassins responsible, it’s…”

He doesn’t know where it starts. Somewhere in the middle is him, and his father before him, and surely it goes back farther, to people he wouldn’t even be able to name. 

“We’ll take revenge against the world,” Robin says. “You’ll be at my side. Isn’t that what you want?”

His only desire is to stay beside those he loves. Emmeryn is dead. Lissa, he knows, fled with Frederick. He has to live if he wants to see her again. And Robin… Robin is trying to help him. Just like always, he trusts her in his time of need.

“What do I have to do?” he asks.

“Your part is easy,” Robin says. “They’ve brought sorcerers here. Kidnap one and escape the castle with me while everyone is distracted.”

“How is an enemy sorcerer going to help me?” Chrom asks, though he’ll do it, of course. His sword is already coated with assassin blood. Kidnapping is nothing.

“They will help me,” Robin says, “when they learn who they’re dealing with.”

She has never sounded more dangerous, more deadly. Chrom thanks the gods that he is on her side, and that he does not have to cross her.

“There is a ritual which you do not have the magic to perform,” Robin says. “With it, and just a bit of your blood, I can create a new body… for a price.”

“I’ll do anything,” Chrom promises.

“Oh, no… It’s nothing YOU have to pay, Chrom.” Robin laughs. It, too, sounds threatening. “Tell me, what do you think about the souls of those who wasted your sister’s life being spent to restore mine? Poetic justice, isn’t it?”

Chrom’s breath hitches. Something buried very deep inside him tries to tell him that this is wrong, that Emmeryn wouldn’t want this…

 _He_ wants this, though.

“If all we can do in this world is decide who gets hurt, then let it be them suffering,” he says. “They’ve chosen themselves over us. It’s only fair if we do the same.”

* * *

Chrom never dreamed of what his wedding day would be like. If he had ever thought of it at all, it was only with a sense of distaste that he might someday marry some poor girl out of duty and leave her loveless.

But perhaps that is for the best. He would never have correctly guessed who he would eventually wed… or how it would make him feel.

“Ha, she’s really got you under her spell,” Lissa teases, forcing Chrom to stop staring at Robin in her white dress. “I still can’t believe you found a wife. And here I actually thought you didn’t care about love! I guess it must’ve been SOME rescue romance, huh?”

Her smile turns a little sad. As far as his little sister knows, he first met Robin when she saved his life the day of Emmeryn’s assassination.

It’s not _very_ far from the truth, but it means no one will ever know just how long Robin has been guiding him.

“You old dastard,” Sully says, coming up beside him and punching him in the shoulder. “I get how you fell for Robin, but what was going through her head to fall for YOU?”

Maribelle sniffs.

“I’m just glad you two decided to clean up for the wedding,” she says. She turns up her nose, but she’s just teasing him too. Probably.

“We’re all just glad to see you smile again,” Sumia says from next to Maribelle..”Oh, Captain! I’m so happy I could cry!”

As she covers her eyes with her sleeve and does exactly that, Chrom takes a step back, fidgeting uncomfortably. The Shepherds may have followed him to the heart of Plegia out of loyalty, but he isn’t delusional. They don’t like the man who stabbed the Mad King of Plegia 23 times with the Falchion before slicing his head off, the man who mercilessly paved a path of blood to Gangrel’s courtyard. They like the idea that he’s becoming the kindhearted prince he used to be, that the love of a woman will somehow tame him down.

He could almost laugh. He will never revert back to innocence, and it will certainly never be Robin who compels him to.

“Are they eating you alive, poor husband?”

As if sensing his feelings (and perhaps she truly can?), Robin appears behind him, draping her arms around his neck. She leans her head on his shoulder, and he turns to gaze into her soulful eyes.

She is the Fell Dragon, Grima. That name once haunted his childhood nightmares, but what really were those tales but more propaganda from his father?

Many people have said many things about what the Fell Dragon is, does, and believes. But none of that matters to Chrom. He has the real thing in front of him, and he loves her.

He smiles for her. All of his smiles, now, belong to her. She is the only reason they still exist.

“It’s not so bad with you here,” he says. The pain in his soul that only ever eases at her touch is quelled now, and he can’t even bring himself to care how the Shepherds are looking at him.

“Aww.” Lissa giggles. “You’d better be good to him, Robin. He’s never looked so happy in his life.”

Robin smiles. Only Chrom knows what it hides.

“He should be happy,” Robin says. “After all, I do plan to give him everything he wants.”

He believes in her entirely. She knows what he wants, and he knows very well what she means.

What he wants, what they _both_ want, is to change this infinitely cruel world. 

Even if that means they have to burn everything down first.


End file.
